


She Is

by thatcrazyhippie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman, Stranger Things (TV 2016), The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, It's all fluff, it's listed under four different fandoms because it fits all of these couples so well, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatcrazyhippie/pseuds/thatcrazyhippie
Summary: Everything she is, is everything he wants.
Relationships: Cassandra Cillian/Jacob "Jake" Stone, Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Kudos: 34





	She Is

She is ravishing (and thoroughly ravished) sunk in the bed, all wrapped up in sweat and cotton and a haze of endorphins. When she blinks up at him sleepily and watches him tug sweatpants up, letting them hang loosely on his hips, traces the almost undetectable movement of his biceps and pecs when he pulls a t-shirt on. She’ll have to get up, soon. She’ll have to take a shower and put on something appropriate for work, but for now, she can stay there, sunken into the mattress, watching him wrap himself in pajamas and the soft gold of morning to head to the kitchen. And, he tilts his head, eyes still bleary and soft with sleep, admiring her tiny form and remembering the thousand compliments he’d pressed into her skin, the night before. The most prominent one being how good she’d tasted beneath his tongue. 

She is adorable curled into his side on the couch, damp curls piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She’s in his t-shirt, the hem almost to her knobby, scarred knees, and his hand is warm when he slips it underneath the worn cotton, and settles his palm on her thigh, absently kneading muscle and taking solace in silky skin. The TV is playing a game show neither of them care about, some host with a mustache too large for his face and a voice too grating to be heard at a volume higher than just above mute explaining rules and prizes, and she’s not even watching, anymore. She’s watching him, listening to his sleepy sigh when his body gives into exhaustion, and looking up at him with those same soft, sleepy eyes he’d given her this morning, silently asking to go to bed. He tucks his arm around her waist underneath the covers and presses words into her skin, the warm curve of her neck, the ticklish spot behind her ear, even the back of her head, where her hair is still damp from her shower. She falls asleep on his chest to the words, _“breathtaking”_ and, _“I don’t know if I can ever stop looking at you.”_ being whispered in her ear. 

She is endearing with an apron wrapped around her waist and a pile of potato skins on a teatowel at her elbow. She didn’t like skin-on mashed potatoes - the texture was too off-putting - and always peeled the potatoes before preparing them. Her knife is sharp and her mind is elsewhere and when she tugs a little too hard on a particularly stubborn skin, it jerks right through, bumping the blade into her thumb. She drops the vegetable and the knife, a sharp curse spilling from pouting lips, and hurries to rush her thumb under cold water. He laughs from the doorway of the kitchen and makes his way to her, scooping her hand up in his own and bringing it to his mouth. He kisses the injury - though, barely more than a bad papercut after a good rinse - while she glares at the offending blade. She’s so precious when she’s irritated. 

She is exquisite, now, all flushed and breathless beneath him. Heavy bedroom eyes and soft pants of his name pull him closer and closer to an endless abyss. She’s soft, like silk, and smooth against him, body responding, mouth opening with every push of his hips, urging him on. Her hands twist in his hair, pulling and pushing all at once, because it’s too much and not enough. Her legs tangle with his and the sheets and he knows more than feels that she’s locked her ankles with his. He feels her smile as she sinks her teeth into his shoulder, feels her shuddering gasp when he cries out and his hips move harder than expected. She crashes before him, a soft keening noise and trembling ecstasy, the clamp of her body around him, ensuring he follows. He does with a muffled groan into her shoulder, because she is radiant in the throes of orgasm and he’s pretty sure he’d follow her, anywhere. 

She is hot when she’s mad. Not the kind of hot that made him want to take her against the wall (though, she was that too) but the fireball kind of hot. The raging temper kind of heat that flushed her entire body with the darkest crimson, flared her nostrils, and blew out her pupils until the color of her irises was no longer discernible. And, she is _furious._ Why, he can’t say, because really, he doesn’t know. He hadn’t really done anything, to his knowledge. Though, he isn’t always aware of the little things that piss her off. What he lacks in self-awareness, he makes up for in affection, in showing that he doesn’t mean to piss her off, but she’s got to tell him what he did so he can work on _never_ doing it, again. So, he scoops her up in his arms, keeps her drawn flush to his body, and whispers, _"I'm sorry."_ until the tension melts and she's sniffling into his neck. She tells him that it wasn't him, that she'd had a shitty day at work, and only when he threatens to gut them like fish, does she giggle. She's hot when she's mad, but she's so warm when she laughs, and he absorbs every drop of her heat.

She’s breathtaking in a white dress, or, maybe it’s the fact that she’s walking toward him, a huge smile on her face, and a longing in her eyes. He never thought he’d be in a relationship stable enough for marriage to be an option. He never thought it could happen with all of the mental bullshit he deals with. He thought, for sure, it was off the table. But, she never let him think that way. She brought strength and dignity to the table, brought her stubbornness, and she made him see that all he is, is all that she wants. And, together, they made everything they are enough to build the life they want. When she reaches the end of the aisle, her hands will feel strong and sure sliding into his and he’ll smile so confidently because her confidence, her brashness, it rubs off on him and there’s no better time to embrace it than right here, when he’s standing before his beautiful girl, trying not to choke up as their relationship is made official. 

_“I do.”_

_“I do, too. Always.”_

  
  



End file.
